


Brolga

by AnOakTree



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bailey the slightly stupid King Charles, Damen is down on his luck, Ghosts?, Haunted House, Laurent is a shit, M/M, Original Canine Character - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 04:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOakTree/pseuds/AnOakTree
Summary: “What the hell is that?” He said pointing to a slim door in the corner, it had a total of four locks on it. “This is some fucking horror movie shit!”“Oh, that’s nothing.” Jord said, walking over to it.“No, no, this is exactly how a horror movie starts, all I’m missing is some pregnant white woman telling me that it’s not much but it’ll be a great place to start a family.”“Fortunately she left you a few days again.” Nik said.“Nik,” Damen said, turning to his friend. “Too soon.”“Right, sorry.” Nik said....Damen is down on his luck, and finds himself living in a run down, possibly haunted, house.





	Brolga

**Author's Note:**

> This is been sitting on my computer for months so I figured I'd just post what I had and see what happens.  
> It is incomplete at the moment, and I will continue with it in time.

“Did you have to steal the dog?” Nikandros said.

“I didn’t steal the dog,” Damen said with a sigh.

Four hours ago, Damen had a nice two bedroom ground floor apartment. He also had a three year old jeep Cherokee that he was mere months away from paying off, and most of all he had a pregnant girlfriend. Now he had none of those things and to top it all off, he was told that the baby was not his, but his brothers.  As if that was not enough, the two had seemed to planned Damen’s demise well, with his brother Kastor, arranging his removal from the family business that very morning. Damen was left with nothing.

What he did have however, was a cold beer, a good friend and a couch to sleep on.

Oh, and the dog.

“I thought it was Jokaste’s dog?”

Damen spared a glance at Bailey, a two year old black and white King Charles Cavalier, which was possibly the stupidest animal Damen had ever come across. Yes, Jokaste had bought the dog and owned it on paper. However, Damen was the one that fed the idiot, walked him, washed him and all the other things that indicated ownership. Not to mention the amount of times Damen had stopped the dog from walking into traffic. 

Yet really, at the end of it all, between Jokaste and himself, Bailey always went to Damen when he called, as near as Bailey could manage. Damen was not exactly keen on getting the dog, but Jokaste insisted and they ended up with Bailey. Not long after, Jokaste interest in pet ownership waned, whilst Damen’s interest grew. In other words, the dumbest dog to ever live was his.

“Well, if she wants him back she’ll just have to come and get him. Isn’t that right boy?”

Bailey looked up at him with his big doe like eyes, his tail thumping against Nikandros’ wooden floors. Whilst most dogs would get up and seek a pat or two when addressed, Bailey stayed where he was, slumped on the ground, right in the middle of a doorway. He was a lazy dog on top of being stupid.

Bailey, the dog that snored so loud he woke himself up. The dog that regularly barked at his own farts. Bailey, who could not seem to figure out that the cat in the apartment over was always going to scratch at him. He was not going to admit it to Nikandros, but Damen loved the dopey little thing. He had already lost everything else that day, he was not going to lose Bailey too.

“Dog’s aren’t owned, they pick their own human. Bailey chose me, isn’t that right boy?”

Bailey whined, his tail thumping harder. He made a valiant attempted to wiggle himself upright before slumping back to the ground. He showed his love in other ways, like continuing to whine and thump his tail, even if he could not quite manage to pick himself up and move a few feet.

Nikandro was kind enough not to comment further on the dog. Instead he got up and retrieved two more beers from the fridge. After popping the tops off of both of them, he returning to the living room where they had been camped out since Damen’s arrival. Nikandros had fed him beer after beer until the whole story had come out. Almost the whole story.

“There is one gap in your story,” NIkandros said, setting their beers down on the coffee table. “What happened to your car?”

Damen tried very hard not to let his eyes stray to Bailey. 

“When I was getting ready to leave, a dog walked onto the road. A car swerved around it and hit my parked car. Don’t worry though, the driver is fine. It’s not looking good for both of the cars though.”

Nikandros looked him straight in the eye and said, “It was Bailey wasn’t it?”

Right on cue the dog started to snore. Loudly.

“It may have been Bailey,” Damen said softly, fiddling with the label on his beer.

“For fucks sake Damen!” Nikandros said, flopping back on the couch.

“There is something funny about the whole story thought,” Damen said with a smirk.

“What could possibly be funny about your day?”

“Well,” Damen said, a smile spreading on his face. “The driver of the other car saw Jokaste put Bailey down right before he ran straight into traffic. She was really keen to place all responsibility onto Jokaste, and the dog does belong to her after all. If only she hadn’t kicked out her boyfriend who watched the dog moments earlier.”

“Does this mean?”

“Yep,” Damen said, clinking their bottles together. “Guess who is now financially responsible for the destruction of two cars?”

Nikandros let out a loud laugh that filled the house, Damen joined him and Bailey continued to snore.

…

“This is it?” Damen said.

“What were you expecting when I said it was a fixer-upper?” Nikandros said, closing the gate behind them.

“More home renovation, less squalled dump actually,” Damen said. 

Bailey started to squirm in his arms, the most activity he had shown in hours, so Damen let him down, knowing that the place at least had a decent fence.

The house in front of him was indeed a dump. At one point it would have been painted white with a red roof, and the wrap around veranda would have been ornate. Now it was off white, and the red of the roof was nothing more than a distant chipped paint memory. The french doors leading out onto the verandah once would have been a fancy luxury, now one of them was boarded up, another rattled dangerously in the scant wind, the glass broken. The outside was bad enough, Damen dreaded to think what the inside looked like.

It had been four days since what Nikandros was calling ‘the big event’. Whilst Damen had spent that first afternoon in good enough spirits, laughing about Jokaste having to face up to the automobile lawsuit coming her way. Damen had spent the following three days holed up in Nikandros’ small unit, drinking his beer and generally wallowing in his own misery. Waking up with his third straight hangover, Nikandros had offered a solution.

A friend of Nikandros’ had a place he could stay for free. The only condition was that Damen helped to fix the place up. All the materials would be provided, all Damen had to do was put in the work, in return, he had a roof over his head and a place all to himself. Not to mention there was a fence around the place and a yard for Bailey. 

Damen had been excited about the prospect when Nikandros had mentioned it. A place to stay, all to himself, and some work to throw himself into and distract himself from what was happening in his life. It sounded like the perfect arrangement, until he had actually seen the place. It wasn’t going to be just a casual three month fix it. Even with his experience on work sites and being a qualified carpenter, on his own, the place would take at least a year to make habitable.

“He doesn’t expect you to fix the whole thing, just, while you’re here, do what you can.”

“What I can do, is knock the thing down and help him sell the land. It’s in a good location and it would sell for a decent amount.”

“That sounds like Theomedes talking.” It was all Nikandros had to say to make Damen shut up.

Instead Damen picked about the overgrown yard, trying to figure out what the place once would have looked like. Bailey wondered slowly through the grass, snorting occasionally, his long fluff of a tail sometimes the only part of him visible as he wander the tall grass. He manages to find an overgrown path that once lead up to the staircase, out front of the verandah were the remnants of a garden. When he had, had enough he makes his way back to Nikandros.

“What now?” Damen said.

“Jord’ll be here soon, he’ll give you the keys and show you around. As I said, he doesn’t expect you to fix the whole thing, he’ll just point out some of the more urgent things.”

Damen nods but says nothing more and instead tries to call Bailey back to him. The dog snorts a lot and seems to try and make his way back to Damen, but ends up walking in circles. In the end Damen just picks him up, the wiggly mess covered in grass seeds and spurs. He makes a note that the first thing he would be doing is getting the grass cut. 

He was busy pulling a particularly stubborn spur out of the the fur on Bailey’s back leg when another person strolled up and entered the property. Damen recognises him vaguely as he had popped up every now and again on Nikandros’ facebook and instagram. Yet, he had never actually met the man. Nik spoke with him first, and then introduced Jord to Damen. After a brief handshake, Jord lead the way up the stairs and opened the front door. 

He would have liked to have said that the inside was not that bad, and it was, but only when compared to the outside. It had a heavy damp smell that wafted out the moment the door was opened. The floorboards creaked and groaned with every step, but thankfully held. One of the bedrooms had a large molding streak of water damage that covered a quarter of the wall. Then there was the bathroom, which Damen decided not to enter after a cursory glance. Jord assured him that the toilet worked. 

The last room they visited on the tour was the kitchen. It was larger than most of the bedrooms and still had a wood stove oven nestled in the original alcove. The cupboards in the kitchen looked like they had been torn directly out of a catalogue from the eighties and had not aged well, the chipboard doors swollen and hanging off in places. Laying on the dust coated floor, was the back door, the doorway blocked by a large piece of pine wood. However there was only one thing about the state of the kitchen that truly concerned Damen.

“What the hell is that?” He said pointing to a slim door in the corner, it had a total of four locks on it. “This is some fucking horror movie shit!”

“Oh, that’s nothing.” Jord said, walking over to it.

“No, no, this is exactly how a horror movie starts, all I’m missing is some pregnant white woman telling me that it’s not much but it’ll be a great place to start a family.”

“Fortunately she left you a few days again.” Nik said. 

“Nik,” Damen said, turning to his friend. “Too soon.”

“Right, sorry.” Nik said.

“A friend of mine needed a place to store some stuff,” Jord said, rapping lightly on the door before walking away. “I offered him a room in the place, but he only wanted to use the old pantry. He drops by every now and then to check on it, he’s the one that put all the locks on the door.”

“That… doesn’t sound much better.”

“He’s fine, a bit standoffish, but fine… mostly fine.” Jord said with a shrug.

“You’re really selling him.”

Damen walked around the kitchen to the fallen down door. Despite being unhinged and covered in filth on the floor, he could still see that in it’s time, it was a well made piece of material. The stained glass panels had survived the fall to the ground, showing its worth. Beneath the filth covering the glass, two brolga’s were joined together in their dance. With a bit of work, it could be restored and beautiful again.

“What do you think?” Jord said, “I’ve got some money put away to restore it. You put in the work, I’ll put in the money, for as long as you want.”

It was a lot of work, and a lot of time, but he had nothing else to do, and a part of him wanted to restore the old place to what it once would have been. It was run down, but the detail was there in the intricate ceilings, the carved wooden doorways and the french doors. 

“What do you plan to do with the place once it’s done up?” Damen asked.

“I don’t know, it was my grandparents place, I don’t really want to sell it so some developer can come in and knock it down. In a year it’ll be old enough to have it heritage listed so I’ll think about it then. Right now, I just want it to look like it use to.” Jord said this whilst running his hand lightly over a window sill, his hand pushing up plumes of dust as he went.

“Okay,” Damen said. With one last glance at the suspicious cupboard he made his decision, and held out his hand, “I’ll start with the bathroom.”

Jord smiled, and clasped his hand, sealing the deal with a firm handshake. 

…

The friends group came together and within a few days, they had managed to scrounge together and find the bits and pieces Damen would need. Nik gave him the small fridge from his garage along with an old television, some spare sheets and a set of draws. Jord threw in a cupboard and managed to provide some kitchen essentials such as cups, plates and cutlery. He was most grateful for the help that Pallas and Lazar had provided.

The two of them had been involved in a very long and drawn out ‘friends with benefits’ agreement. Recently out of the blue Lazar, of all people, had proposed to Pallas, begging him to stay with him forever, stating that he could not live without him. Lazar denied it had happened that way, yet Pallas was more than happy to tell the story of their proposal over and over. They had moved in together not long after and found themselves with an excess of furniture.

They provided a double bed, they swore it was clean, a microwave, a couch, a coffee table and a table with chairs. Lazar also winkingly threw in his collection of pornographic DVDs saying that he would not need them anymore. Damen accepted them with a forced smile, shoving them into one of the kitchen draws the moment Lazar was not looking. He would dispatch of them as soon as he could. 

Aktis was an electrician Damen had worked with a number of times and he arrived later in the day, bringing a carton of beer and enough packets of mi goreng to last a month. Then the six of them got to work making the place as liveable as possible. Damen and Jord attacked the bathroom, bleaching and scrubbing every surface whilst Pallas and Nikandros attacked the kitchen in a similar fashion. Aktis went around installing new light bulbs and checking the switches and powerpoints, determining what was safe and what was not. Lazar leaned against doorways, handing out beers and did little else. Bailey lay in any place that was inconvenient, snoring away.

At the end of the day the house, whilst not completely transformed, was more liveable. The bathroom still needed a lot of work, but Damen felt safe taking a shower. All the wooden boards covering doorways and the few hanging cupboards were pulled apart and shoved into the wood stove and lit on fire. Similar hanging parts of the house found their way into the fire with a chorus of cheers until Pallas stopped them telling them it was starting to look a bit like the lord of the flies. 

The last thing Damen did before everyone went home was to tear down the wooden panelling covering the back doorway and push the original door back into place. Scrubbing away the years of neglect, the two brolgas stood shining again. As Damen waved everyone goodbye he went back to trace the smooth glass with his fingers. Seeing the sunset shine through the glass, Damen knew he had made the right decision.

…

He knew sleeping in a new place, a run down and old place, was going to be difficult, yet he was not prepared for the creaks and groans that he heard throughout the night. He would constantly wake through the night. At times it felt like the very house was moving with the breeze. He made a note to check the stumps for decay and termites first thing in the morning. 

Rolling over he shoved a pillow over his head, trying to block out the new sounds. Bailey stirred against his legs and let out a small growl before giving up and snuggling back into sleep. Damen tried to ignore that the sounds of the house sounded like footsteps. 

…

The next day Damen cut back the grass, mostly because he kept losing Bailey in the mess. Figuring that trimming a forest was enough, he spent the rest of the day drinking from the carton of beer Aktis had brought. 

That night it rained, and Damen realised that the first thing he had to focus on was the roof and not the bathroom. The roof did not leak and drip in convenient points that he could put a bucket under. Instead the water seemed to spill from the walls that flowed in a cascade when the rain got heavy enough. 

He spent the next day tearing down the rest of the boarded up windows, figuring there was no point coving the windows when the rain would get in anyway. He split the wood outside in the rain, cutting it down into small pieces and enjoying the somewhat barbaric feel of cutting wood in the rain.  His back was turned to the house, and the entire time he felt like he was being watched. He brushed it off, telling himself it was Bailey.

When he was done, he gathered the damp wood and stacked it in front of the burning fire in the wood stove. Bailey was sitting up straight, staring at the locked up pantry, wagging his tail slowly, his gaze unmoving. Damen distracted himself by putting back together the broken windows that he could, the majority of them being an easy enough rehinging. By the time he ran out of fixable windows, Bailey was still staring at the locked pantry, wagging his tail. 

Trying to ignore it, Damen went to the room he had claimed and turned on the TV. There, huge on screen, the Conjuring was playing and taunting him. He refused to turn it off, and instead watched every terrifying minute of the only movie that had ever truly scared him. 

He hoped that he did not hear clapping in the night.

…

The rain cleared overnight, and the next day Damen climbed onto the roof and started to locate where the leaks were coming from. The damage was extensive, and Damen hoped that Jord had as much money for repairs as he said he did. There was little he could do at the time but note the damage and pass on the materials he needed to Jord. Until then, the roof would have to do with tarps.

The rest of the afternoon was spent sourcing tarps from everyone he knew and trying not to think of the large collection of tarps he had back at the apartment. He thought about calling Jokaste, asking if he could at least collect his stuff. However, he then thought about Kastor answering her phone, living in his apartment, living his life. Rather than face that, he looked to his savings and bought the extra tarps that he needed.

It was late in the afternoon, with the sun dipping low in the sky when he fixed the last tarp in place. He was using bungee cords and nails, it was not much, but it would hold through the rain. It was late Autumn and he hoped to have the roof and the rest of the windows fixed before summer when the storms would start up again. He realised that it was too early to think about living in the place long term, but he was use to thinking long term when it came to buildings. It had only been a few days, but the house was a masterpiece in it’s time, he wanted to see it fully restored. 

He started his descent down the ladder and jumped the last few rungs, turning around to be met with a pale face and shockingly bright hair.

“Jesus! Fuck!” said Damen, stumbling back into the ladder.

“Hello to you too,” the man said

After recovering from his shock, Damen was able to properly take in the man in front of him. He was simply put, the most attractive man Damen had ever seen, his hair was a flash of blinging light, his cheekbones were simply on point, and he had a slim but muscluar form, every part of him was exactly Damen’s type. It was unfortunate that he so happened to be the most attractive man Damen had ever seen, because his crotch was telling him one thing, and his mind was telling him to step back.

“Um… hello?” said Damen, pushing himself back up right, “You are?”

At his feet, Bailey went into a wiggling fit of joy, whining at the man’s feet and rubbing up against him. 

“Laurent.” he said, stepping back and giving Damen some room. Bailey followed, continuing to wiggly even as the newly named Laurent ignored the dog. 

“And?”

“And Jord told me someone was living here now, I came to make sure they were not a bumbling idiot that would harm my belongings.”

“Um.. what?”

“I rent a space here, I come by now and then to retrieve and check things. I wanted to see who was living here. Seems I was correct in my assumptions of a bumbling idiot. You look like a run of the mill tradie, probably the kind to whistle from a balcony and call a woman a fat ugly bitch when she rejects your comments.”

Damen’s crotch settled down immeasurably when the man, Laurent, opened his mouth.

Unable to control himself in the face of such an insult, Damen responded back with just as much prejudice. 

“And you look like a stuck up bitch living off of Daddy’s money, let me guess, you study law, no, business? You’ve never made a decision in your life have you?” 

Laurent smiled and stepped back from invading Damen’s space.

“That’s better,” he said, patting Damen’s cheek like some approving affectionate aunt. “I’m off to check my stuff, no need to check in I won’t be long.”

He then walked off, letting himself through the open door like he owned the place. Bailey trotted off after him, tail high and wagging. 

Damen ignored his curiosity and did not follow him inside. Instead, he put the ladder away and turned his attention to the house’s stumps. 

 

…

 

That night, Damen swore he heard the sound of footsteps again, but this time there was no wind. The house was silent of the usual creaks and moans of the old wooden house. Slowly he pulled himself from his bedding and left the room. Bailey grumbled about being disturbed and settled back into sleep. 

“Hello?” he said, moving his way to the kitchen where the noise seemed to be coming from.

The wind picked up and Damen heard the sound of heavy footsteps followed by a door slamming. Pushing aside his fear Damen charged into the kitchen. There was no one there, but the door to the fridge was left wide open, the interior light cutting a path through the darkness. 

“Oooooookay, right, that’s… not good.” Damen said to himself. Bailey chose that moment to appear beside him and yap softly. Of course Damen did not jump at the sound nor clutch his hand to his chest when he realised it was just Bailey. However, Bailey did not make things any better when he walked straight to the pantry door and stared directly at it.

Needing to plant himself firmly in reality. Damen carefully made his way through the house, first checking that the back door was indeed locked and bolted. When he was sure it was secure he moved to the front door and checked it was still locked. He was just moving to the first window when there was the loud sound of a door slamming from the kitchen.

He turned and sprinted back down the long hallway, hoping to catch whoever or whatever was responsible. He skidded to a holt in the kitchen to find the fridge door once again wide open. Bailey was still staring at the locked up pantry, his brushy tail, sweeping back and forth over the dusty floor. 

“Nope, nope. I’m out.” Damen said, spinning around and sprinting back to his room, before remembering that he had forgotten the dog. 

“Shit,” he said, rushing back and picking up the dog. 

Just as he approached the pantry, the door banged and shuddered, the locks rattling against their hinges.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” 

Damen spent the rest of the night with the lights on, clutching Bailey and watching late night reruns of MASH.

...

During the day it was fine, he threw himself into the restoration work. He told himself that it was because he was in a new place, that his mind was playing with him. He focused on the work and tried not to call Jokaste. Moreover, he tried not to focus on the pantry or the man ‘renting out’ the space. 

At night he wondered if Laurent was keeping someone in there. The footsteps kept up at night, always in the kitchen. Damen locked himself in his room as soon as the sun went down, holding Bailey close even though the dog seemed to have a fascination with the pantry. He only got up and investigated once more. This time finding every single cupboard door in the kitchen open.

The next day he tore apart the kitchen, removing all the dated decor, chopping it to pieces in the backyard. The day after he woke up to find all of the cups Jord had given him upside down on the floor in no apparent order, simply there.

He had put them back and ignored it, instead moving to the master bedroom and started stripping the swollen, molding panels from the wall. 

Laurent stopped by again and Damen hid around the corner trying to peek into the pantry as Laurent opened the door, Bailey sitting at his feet like Laurent was his human. The only thing he saw was a tower of compacted boxes and odds and ends that Laurent sorted through. He retrieve a couple of books from the mess before closing the door and setting the locks back into place. 

He watched as Laurent glanced around the kitchen quickly before dropping to his knees and patting an enthusiastic Bailey that was wiggling on his back. Damen was upset that Bailey was rarely that enthusiastic with him, but he could not help the snort that escaped after seeing Laurent give belly rubs to a wriggling, snuffling mess. 

He was quick enough to dart back into the master bedroom and pretend he had been stripping the old wooden panels the whole time. He knew the Laurent was standing in the doorway, watching him, Damen whistled to himself, and tried not to laugh at the thought of uptight Laurent giving in to belly rubs.

...

It was a week after the initial event, after finding his toothbrush in the toilet, that he sort out help. He went to see Pallas, who whilst not a professional in the area, always had a spiritual side. 

Lazar had answered the door in a frilly apron, Damen was glad that was not all he was wearing. 

“Honey! Damen is here to see you!” Lazar said, walking away. Okay, so assless pants on Lazar was not exactly expected, yet Damen pushed it out of his mind as Pallas appeared.

“Oh thank god,” Pallas said, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the closest available room. “He’s been insane since we moved in together. Don’t get me wrong, I love his well muscled arse, but since we moved in he’s gone all… domestic… overly domestic.”

“In assless pants and a frilly apron?” Damen said. 

“He doesn’t wear anything else! At first it was exciting, now? I don’t even know what to do. I swear to god he’s about to burst in with a tray of tea and biscuits.”

“Honey!” Lazar said, pushing through the door with a tray holding a teapot and a plate of biscuits in his hands. “I thought you and Damen might like some tea and biscuits.” He set the tray down with a wink in Pallas’ direction. Pallas smiled at him wickedly as he left the room. The smile dropped the second the door closed.

“How did he even have the water boiled in time?” Pallas said in a whisper.

“I… err, don’t know, sorry.” Damen said. Having nothing else to say he picked up a biscuit. “Oh! Kingstons, my favorite.”

“Mine too!” Pallas said, still in a whisper, “I mentioned it once and now we’ve got nothing but Kingstons!”

Putting his biscuit down, Damen brushed the crumbs from his fingers.

“He just wants to make you happy, Pallas. I’m sure if you just mention he’s a bit… over the top? Then he’ll calm down a bit. Communication is key after all, take it from someone who was in a relationship that had no communication after thinking back. If we had talked to each other more, maybe Jokaste wouldn’t’ve fucked Kastor and I wouldn’t be living in a wooden shack with a ghost infestation.”

“Ghosts?” Pallas said, dropping his own biscuit

“I’m sorry, I turned the conversation to be about myself. What else has Lazar been up too?”

“I’ll tell you about the Rocky Horror reenactment later, but what’s this about ghosts?”

“Well…” Damen said, wondering how to start this particular conversation. “Wait, does he play Frank-n-furt or Rocky?”

…

Pallas had said it sounded like an attention seeking ghost, and that acknowledging the ghost would be the best way to calm down the paranormal activity. If that did not work, Pallas had given him a bunch of sage to burn. Damen was somewhat skeptical, even with everything he had experienced, nevertheless, he entered the house determined to try anything. He told himself he was just being prepared by having the sage clenched in his hand.

“Hello?” he said tentatively, stepping into the house. 

The only response was the thump of Bailey’s tail as he welcomed Damen home in his own special way. That being wagging his tail and not physically getting up.

“Someone told me, that if I talked to you, then maybe you would calm down.” Damen said, kicking off his shoes and walking further into the house. “I know, this is your house, but… shit… this sounds so stupid. But, I live here now, and I think we could come to an agreement.”

There was no response.

“You’re right, you do sound stupid.”

Damen did not, in anyway, jump in fright and thrust the bunch of sage up in front of him as he turned to the source of the voice.

“Ugh,” Laurent said, stepping back. “Is that sage? Great, I’m going to be sneezing all night.”

“What are you doing here?” Damen said, dropping his arm. 

“I rent a space remember? I need to swap some things out.” Right on cue, Laurent sneezed. “Put that away would you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Damen said, throwing the sage through the open door of his room. The master bedroom was still mostly bare and moldy, but he was making progress on the roof.

Damen entered the kitchen just as Laurent slammed the door to the pantry back into place. There was a collection of books shoved under his arm that he pressed to his body as he fitted the locks back into place. Bailey sat at his feet, looking up with expectation. Damen was jealous that Laurent’s belly rubs seemed to garner such loyalty from his stupid dog. 

“Why so many locks?” Damen said.

“Prior to you moving in,” Laurent said, putting the last lock into place. “This place was essentially abandoned. I needed to keep my things safe from anyone who might decide to check out the place.”

“And now?”   
“Now I need to keep it safe from you. I know you’re curious, but it’s just boxes and books.”

Damen tried not to think about how the pantry had banged and shuddered during the night. He tried not to think about the footsteps, and the cupboards hanging open when he went to investigate. 

The kitchen was still an empty shell after he had pulled it apart, it would be awhile before the kitchen would be properly restored. Until then all his crockery and cutlery was stacked on the table shoved against a wall, the sink was held up with stacks of bricks. He had dragged the coffee table into the kitchen and had set up a camp stove on it for cooking. 

“Love what you’re doing with the place.” Laurent said, looking around the bare kitchen. “I mean before it looked abandoned, now it looks post-apocalyptic. The bricks are a nice touch.”

“You know at some point I’m going to have to get the pantry back.” Damen said, motioning towards his supply of dry goods that were living on top of the refrigerator. 

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes.” Laurent said, striding out of the kitchen, Bailey trotting along after him.

“At least use one of the spare rooms.” Damen said, following him out.

“They all leak.”

“I’ve got tarps up. I’ve pulled out most of the damaged wood except for the frames and Jord has the list of materials needed. It won't be long until it’s all fixed.”

By this time they had reached the front verandah and Laurent whirled on the spot cutting Damen off suddenly.

“Once again, we’ll deal with that when the time happens. Besides, there are no locks on the doors, I don’t trust you not to go through my things.”

“Do you really think so little of me?” Damen said as his brow furrowed and his hands clenched into fists.

Laurent looked him carefully up and down before replying.

“How tall are you anyway?”

Caught off guard by the seemingly unrelated answer, Damen simply answered his question, “Six, three.”

“Well that’s just unnecessary.”

Stumbling over his words, it took an embarrassingly long amount of time for Damen to answer, “I didn’t really have a choice!”

Yet it was too late, Laurent was gone, the gate clicking back into place behind him and Bailey whining after him.

“Traitor,” Damen said to Bailey before turning around and slamming the door behind him. 

…

Feeling spiteful, Damen left Bailey outside the rest of the afternoon. He whined and scratched at the door for a few minutes before falling silent. Feeling a bit guilty, Damen peaked out of a window only to find that Bailey had simply gone to sleep.

“Traitor,” Damen said again, spending the rest of the day sanding back the walls in the master bedroom. At no point did the sound interrupt Bailey in his afternoon nap.

As the sun went down, Damen caved and let the dog back in. It was in no way because he did not want to be left alone in the house, in the dark, with the creepy pantry. Bailey calmly trotted into the kitchen and sat down at his bowl, stared at it for a moment, and then looked up at Damen and whined.

“What’s so good about his belly rubs, huh?” Damen said with a grumble. Nevertheless, he grabbed Bailey’s wet food out of the fridge and mashed it into his dry food maybe a little too viciously. “Hope whoever you are you’re having a good laugh over my dog’s betrayal.” He placed the bowl on the ground and Bailey was so over excited that he fell face first into the food before scrambling back and eating properly. “God, I’m talking to a dog and a ghost. That’s it, time for bed.”

He went into his room, leaving the door open a crack for Bailey to join him. He turned his television on and got comfortable, Bailey joining him not long after and snuggling in like he had not broken Damen’s heart. Switching through the channels, he settled on the 24 hour news channel, simply because he could not stand one more reality T.V. show.

“God I miss Netflix.” he said, setting the remote aside and getting comfortable. 

...

When he woke in the morning, it was to find Lazar’s collection of pornographic DVDs towering into a pyramid in the hallway like they were a set of playing cards. He had not thought of the DVDs since he had shoved them into a draw in the kitchen, not even noticing their absence when he tore apart the kitchen. Deciding he was still too tired to deal with that, he backed up into his room and climbed back into bed. He chose to instead watch children’s shows the rest of the morning. 

At one point, many hours later, he suddenly remembered the bunch of sage. Pushing his sheets back he scrambled around his room hurriedly before locating the bunch of sage he had thrown away the day before.

“Let’s see how you deal with this!” Damen said, rushing out of his room, taking a moment to kick over the stack of DVDs.

Lighting the bunch on his camper stove, the first thing Damen did was kneel down in front of the pantry and wave the bunch under the crack, using his hand to waft the smoking bunch into the space.

“Hope you choke!” he said, standing up when he thought that was enough.

He continued to wave the bunch around the kitchen before relighting the smouldering pile and moving on to the rest of the house. He had plans to shove the bundle into every corner of the house. However, his plans were thwarted by a wriggling black and white ball of fluff that was upset over the smoke and got tangled under Damen’s feet. He fell, quite ridiculously, onto the pile of DVDs, the sage flying out of his hands and landing in the doorway of the bathroom. Bailey yelped and disappeared back into the bedroom. 

“This is getting out of hand.”Damen said, pushing himself up. Putting his hand down on one of the DVDs, he slipped again and once more, fell crashing down to the floor. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and let me know what you think.  
> I feel like I should warn that I am a massive procrastinator and any follow up may take A LOT of time.


End file.
